


Inky

by CursedGay



Series: Midnight City Writing [1]
Category: Homestuck, Problem Sleuth (Webcomic)
Genre: Gen, Horrorterrors - Freeform, Problem Sleuth (mentioned), timeline 1
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-15
Updated: 2017-11-15
Packaged: 2019-02-02 16:43:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12730380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CursedGay/pseuds/CursedGay
Summary: A little writing but for an on-going RPPickle Inspector deals with the Horrorterrors whispering to him.





	Inky

Late on a Wednesday night, PI lay restlessly in his bed.

Sleep was merely wishful thinking at this point, the whispering was so loud and demanding. He could practically hear Sleuth’s voice among them too, encouraging him to give in.

Give in and the whispers stopped. Give in and find peace.

Give in or die.

He sat up in bed with a gasp, sweating and exhausted and on the verge of frustrated tears. He just wanted to sleep…

Pickle Inspector sighed and tied his hair back to keep it out of his face, looking at his bedside clock afterwards.  
3:26 AM…

God. Dammit.

He sighed, louder this time, and got up onto his feet.  
Suppose it was time to start the day after all.

Pickle sent Sleuth a good morning text, knowing full well the blonde wouldn’t read it for another few hours at least. Then he set about making tea to supplement for an actual breakfast.

Food had just been… so off-putting lately…. thinking about eating made him nauseas.  
He’d been taking multivitamins and drinking more teas to try to cope with it.

A little while later, PI sat at his crowded kitchen table with a cuppa and an old sudoku book he hadn’t finished.  
He gnawed on a black pen, his lucky one tucked away in his hung up coat, and concentrated on answering the puzzles.

There was a snapping sound, and a noise of surprise left the detective when he felt the pen’s ink cover his tongue.  
This had happened before, and usually the awful taste left him running for the sink, but… this time?

It didn’t taste bad. It tasted more like nothing.

He rubbed his tongue against the roof of his mouth and frowned before, well, swallowing the ink.  
Only after that did he get up and go wash out his mouth, taking a big gulp of tea afterwards to wash away whatever was left.

Just what was going on with him? What were They doing?

He hoped Sleuth had gotten some answers from Droog…


End file.
